Fast Machine
by dust on the wind
Summary: Which would you prefer - a long walk, or a short ride?


_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

_I'm back on the music train again; this one started from listening to John Adams' "Short Ride In A Fast Machine", although it's ended up rather less frenetic than one might reasonably expect._

_The story follows on from "The Late Inspector General" (Season 1)._

_My apologies to konarciq for LeBeau's comments on rabbits._

* * *

"We're gonna be awful late getting back to camp."

The lengthening shadows spreading across the road, as the sun descended below the trees, made Carter's remark more than a bit superfluous. He only said it to break the silence.

LeBeau didn't bother to reply. He didn't even look Carter's way, but just kept stalking along the side of the road, his heavy Luftwaffe coat flapping around his legs and his boots splashing in the puddles left by the rain, while his comrade trailed despondently on the opposite verge.

"I don't get why you're so sore about it, LeBeau," Carter went on, after a pause. "It's not like it was my fault."

An expressive snort was the only response. It should have discouraged him, but he wasn't one to give up easily. "And, you know, it could have been worse. We got the job done, didn't we? We blew up the train. And the Inspector General."

LeBeau still didn't answer, and Carter hesitated before he tried again. "Okay, sure, we wrecked Klink's staff car…"

"_You_ wrecked Klink's staff car," growled LeBeau, and kept walking.

"Well … well, look on the bright side. At least nobody got hurt, not even the rabbit."

LeBeau stopped in his tracks, and turned a withering glare on his companion. "Carter, let me give you some advice. The next time you're driving through the woods and a rabbit runs out in front of you, before you swerve off the road and crash the car into a tree, just tell yourself that there are plenty of rabbits out there, and one less won't make much difference."

"It'd make a difference to the rabbit," muttered Carter.

Skirting a wide patch of mud, he crossed the road to fall in behind LeBeau, who had set off again; and they trudged on as the twilight dimmed into dusk.

Before long, the forest on one side yielded to a long stone wall which loomed above their heads. Carter regarded it curiously. "What d'you suppose is on the other side?" he asked.

"I think it's a hunting lodge." LeBeau slowed his steps. "I know there's one around here. It belongs to some big wheel in the German government. I forget his name, but he's made a fortune since the war started, and he's been buying up a lot of property around here."

"You know, my dad always says you can't go wrong investing in real estate," said Carter. "Though I gotta say it, once the bombs start dropping…"

LeBeau cut him off. "We can take a short cut. Going through the grounds of the lodge instead of all the way round by road would save us nearly an hour."

"That'd be trespassing."

"Who's going to know? There's nobody living there, not even a caretaker. The owner spends all his time in Berlin. Most of his time, anyway." LeBeau stepped backwards into the road, craning his neck to estimate the height of the wall. "They say he brings one of his girlfriends down here every so often."

"What the heck would he bring a girl here for?"

"To play Chinese checkers. What do you think?" LeBeau snapped back

"I know what they're up to," replied Carter, clearly nettled. "I mean, why way out here? Can't they find some place closer to home?"

"Maybe he doesn't want his wife to find out. Give me a boost to the top, then I'll help you up."

"Uh…Louis..." Carter was staring along the wall, his eyebrows contracting.

"Stop messing about, Carter. The sooner we get over the wall, the sooner we will be back at camp."

"But…"

"Carter!"

With a sigh, Carter complied, linking his hands together to provide LeBeau with a step. It took some scrambling, a few grunts and an utterance or two which, from anyone but Carter, would have emerged as pure profanity; but after a minute or so, LeBeau was on top of the wall.

He crouched there for a moment, catching his breath as he looked around. "All clear," he hissed. "Come on, Carter ... Carter? ... _Carter_!"

"What?"

LeBeau spun round and almost lost his balance. Carter was right below him, standing knee-deep in the tangle of undergrowth on the inside of the wall.

"How did you get there?"

"There's a gate. That's what I was trying to tell you. Are you coming down, or are you just going to hang around up there all night?"

"_Carter, t'es rien qu'un petit..._" LeBeau's words subsided into a furious mutter as he slid down from his perch to land at Carter's feet. "Where is this gate of yours?"

"Just over there. There's a big long drive as well. It goes to the house, I guess. We should go that way, 'cause it'll be easier to walk on than trying to get through all these bushes. Gee, I bet nobody's looked after the grounds for a hundred years."

LeBeau was inclined to agree with him, for the greenery all around, visible now in the light of a rising full moon, had an overgrown, neglected air. But he didn't say so; he just stomped off in the direction of the gate.

The driveway, at least, was well-maintained, and in considerably better condition than the road they'd just left. Perhaps there was a caretaker, after all; and since the last thing they wanted was to be seen, they kept close to the trees, and moved quietly, just in case.

Pretty soon the lodge came into view, a chalet-style building with a great deal of intricate, white-painted wooden trim which gleamed in the moonlight. Carter gave a low snicker. "Looks like a cuckoo clock."

"Some cuckoo!" replied LeBeau sourly.

"It's kind of pretty, though, huh?"

LeBeau snorted. "It's just what I'd expect from the Krauts. They can't even build a proper hunting lodge, they have to turn it into a gingerbread house. Everything they make ends up looking ridiculous."

"Well, I like it," said Carter, staring at it. Then his voice sank to a whisper: "Say, LeBeau..."

"I see it," LeBeau hissed back. A soft glow of light had appeared at one of the windows. "Maybe the owner's here. He would pick tonight to turn up. Just our luck."

"Should we go back and take the long way?" asked Carter.

"Not if we can help it." Keeping to the shelter of the shrubs which lined the opposite side of the drive, LeBeau crept forward until he could see into the lit room. With complete disregard of the blackout, the curtains were pulled back, giving a clear view of the room and its occupants: a middle-aged man with a complacent, overfed look, pouring wine into two glasses; and, behind him, half-reclined on an elaborate _chaise longue_, a woman who looked to be way out of his league. From the slow, sultry look with which she thanked him for the wine, LeBeau deduced they'd soon be too busy to notice anything going on outside.

_They didn't walk all the way out here, _he thought; and the spark of an idea kindled in his mind. Gesturing to Carter to follow him, he continued cautiously, following the drive as it swept around the corner of the house; and at the sight which greeted him, illuminated by the soft light of the moon, he stopped in his tracks.

Carter uttered a soft whistle. "Gosh, she's a real beauty!"

LeBeau didn't answer, he just stared. He'd forgotten the woman behind the window. In front of him stood a real stunner, with a long, elegant body, curving in a way no man's gaze could resist. So perfect was she, in every feature, that LeBeau felt a lump rising in his throat.

"Well, say what you like about the Krauts," Carter went on, "but one thing you gotta give them credit for. They sure know how to make a good-looking car. And it doesn't get better than this baby."

"Yes." LeBeau's voice had become husky. He stepped forward, reaching out to caress the flowing scarlet line of the fender. "She's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

For a moment the two men gazed at the roadster in silent admiration; low, sleek, built for speed.

"Louis, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" said Carter.

"I'm thinking it's a long walk to Stalag 13," replied LeBeau, "but it's a short ride. "

"Can I drive?"

"Not a chance," snorted LeBeau, vaulting into the driver's seat. "We might meet another rabbit."

Carter scampered round to the passenger side, running his hand along the elongated hood. "She's still warm. She should start like a dream."

"I hope so." LeBeau pressed the starter, and a low resonant purr answered.

"What if someone hears us?" asked Carter.

LeBeau laughed softly, and engaged first gear. "Let them try to catch us."

So much power! He could feel it through his fingers as they curled around the steering wheel, and through the pedals beneath his feet; through every part of this glorious piece of engineering. She wanted to go fast, and he had to resist a crazy urge to let her have her way. _Not yet, chérie. _

Whether she understood or not, she responded, gliding with scarcely a sound past the window with the drawn curtains. It was too risky to turn the headlights on, but the moon was bright enough to light the way.

"We're gonna make it," whispered Carter.

Then, just as they gained the long drive to the gate, the front door of the lodge crashed open, and a frantically gesticulating figure ran out. "_Mein Auto! Halt! Halt!_" shrieked the man from Berlin.

But it was too late. The headlights blazed; Carter gave a cheer, and LeBeau a whoop, and the sound of the engine swelled to a ferocious crescendo; and they left the lodge, and its outraged owner, far behind.

"Oh, boy!" crowed Carter, as they reached the road. "This is great. Can we keep her?"

LeBeau pushed the temptation aside. "Yeah, sure. If you can think of somewhere in the barracks to hide her."

"Maybe we can find somewhere outside camp. There's an old barn at the back of the Steinmetz farm, nobody ever goes there. Or how about one of those caves up above the Aalenau Bridge?"

"We'd never get her up there. Forget it, Carter. We can't keep a sports car. Let's just enjoy the ride, while it lasts."

The car sped on through the night. Even though the road was rough, the ride was almost unnaturally smooth, and the low-pitched song of the motor was curiously soothing. Carter leaned back in his seat, his eyes closed. As for LeBeau, he had the strangest feeling, as if he and the roadster had become a single entity. She responded instantly to his lightest touch, the most subtle movement of the wheel, the softest pressure on the pedals. It was as if she could read his mind.

_We can't keep her_, he told himself again.

All too soon, he realised they had passed the Aalenau turn-off. From here, the road made a long, slow incline, and once they reached the top, they would see the spotlights of Stalag 13. A few more kilometres, and they must abandon this magnificent, fast machine.

The peak of the ascent, however, brought something else into sight. Carter sat up, suddenly on the alert. "Is that a road block?" he said.

"It's not a picnic party," LeBeau snapped back, applying the brakes to slow their descent.

"It's the cops, isn't it? They're looking for the car."

"Or it's the Gestapo, looking for whoever blew up the Inspector General. Either way, we're in trouble."

"Maybe we should turn around."

"They've already seen us. Besides, we'd be heading away from camp." LeBeau's eyebrows drew in. "Somehow we have to get past them. And we'd better think fast."

They were close enough now to recognise the man who stepped into the headlight beam and held up his hand. LeBeau's heart sank.

"Isn't that one of the goons from Stalag 13?" asked Carter.

"They're all from Stalag 13. That's Bierbaum, and the other two are Schlegel and Schmidt." LeBeau bit his lip. "What if they recognise us?"

"They won't," replied Carter, serenely confident on this point. "And at least they're not SS. These guys'll be easy."

The car slowed to a halt, and Bierbaum approached the passenger side, his eyes lingering in astonished wonderment on the long elegant bodywork.

"Nice, isn't she?" said Carter, with an air of innocent pride.

"_Wundersch__ö__n_!" The goon's gaze stayed on the car for a few seconds, then shifted to the two occupants. His brow furrowed.

"Oh, she's not ours." Carter gave a boyish chuckle. "No such luck, right, Herbert?"

"Right, Franz." LeBeau's deliberately spoke in a muffled tone, trying to disguise his accent. He had no idea what Carter was going to say. Chances were, Carter didn't know, either, which was probably just as well. If he didn't have a plan, he was less likely to mess it up.

"No, we just took her into town for a service," Carter went on. "And then, well, maybe we took her for a little drive, because who wouldn't? You would, wouldn't you?"

Bierbaum didn't reply, at least not out loud; but the unconscious movement of his fingers towards the gleam of moonlight reflected on the paintwork was answer enough. His two comrades, equally awestruck, had drawn near. "Whose is it?" asked Schlegel.

Carter adopted a confidential tone. "Well, you know General Burkhalter?"

"Yes. Is this his car?"

"No, of course not. You've seen him, he'd never fit in here. But his wife, Frau Burkhalter…"

"The little short woman with the…"

"That's her. Well, she's got a younger sister called Mimi. And when Mimi asks you to take her car to town, boy, you better get in and start driving. Right, Herbert?"

"Right, Franz." With an effort, LeBeau kept his voice steady.

"What happens if you don't?" asked Bierbaum.

"She has a word with her friend the Field Marshall," replied Carter, "and you get a one-way ticket to the Russian Front."

"General Burkhalter's wife's sister...and a Field Marshall?"

LeBeau held his breath. _He's gone too far_, he thought. _Maybe I should just floor it and hope for the best._

Carter, however, gave a sly grin. "How'd you think Burkhalter got to be a General? It wasn't on merit, that's for sure."

The story was tissue-thin; so thin that the slightest breath of scepticism might tear it to shreds. But that was the thing about a lie. It didn't have to be good, as long as the delivery carried conviction. Carter, whatever his other shortcomings, could utter the most outrageous implausibilities with an air of absolute sincerity. Besides, he'd added one last detail which every man who knew Burkhalter would willingly accept; and once that little morsel had slipped down, the rest would be easier for them to swallow.

All the same, it couldn't hurt for LeBeau to hurry things along. "We're running late," he said. "Can you let us through?"

Bierbaum exchanged glances with his mates. "_Ja_, I think so. But keep your eyes open. There has been some Underground activity in the area. They are very dangerous people."

"How dangerous?"

"They blew up a munitions train. So if you see anything suspicious…"

"We'll report it at once," replied Carter. "Right, Herbert?"

"You said it!" LeBeau put the car into motion, and she glided past the roadblock and left it behind.

Carter giggled. "They bought it!"

"Only just." LeBeau glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Carter, we must have been crazy to take this car. We can't leave her anywhere near Stalag 13. Bierbaum and the others might have fallen for that ridiculous story of yours, but they're sure go back to camp and talk about seeing a red sports car on the road. If she turns up within walking distance of the camp, it's bound to arouse suspicion. We have to hide her where nobody will ever find her."

For a couple of minutes, neither of them spoke. They passed the turn-off leading towards Stalag 13 without slowing down, and kept driving through the night.

"Did you say something earlier about an old barn?" said LeBeau abruptly.

"Yeah, it's on Steinmetz's farm, but way back in the woods. I don't think old man Steinmetz even remembers it's there."

"Can you find it in the dark?"

"Piece of pie," replied Carter cheerfully.

LeBeau had heard this before. Fortunately he knew the way to Steinmetz's farm, so Carter's directions didn't throw them too far off track. Less than half an hour found them jolting along a narrow, overgrown, deeply rutted laneway. It should have stopped the roadster in her tracks, but she was equal to the challenge.

"Is that it?" LeBeau had spotted, amongst the trees, a darker, more solid structure.

"Yep. It's solid stone, really well built. You know, sometimes these timber barns don't hold out against the weather, but you get your stone walls…"

Ruthlessly, LeBeau cut this nascent digression short: "Never mind that, Carter. Go and open the door."

It took a bit of effort for Carter to get the door open, but within half a minute LeBeau was able to run the car inside and bring her to a halt.

"See? It's as dry as dry." Carter leaned against the door, and waved a hand around. "Okay, so there's some cobwebs, and it's a bit dusty, but you won't get any rain in here. We ought to cover her up, though."

"There's nothing to cover her with," replied LeBeau. With a sudden sense of loss, he switched off the engine and got out of the car.

"I bet we could swipe the canvas off one of the trucks in the motor pool, and bring it up here some time. We want to keep her nice."

"Carter…" LeBeau broke off. His hand rested on the smooth skin of the roadster's front wing, as if trying to offer consolation, or to receive it. They couldn't come back. Their adventure with this exquisite creature was over, and they must abandon her.

"Maybe we could do that," he heard himself say. "At least, until we figure out what to do with her."

He reached in and switched off the headlights. "We'd better get back to camp. We're going to be late, after all."

"It was worth it," replied Carter. "Anyway, once we explain what happened…"

They stopped in the doorway, looked at each other, then looked back at the beautiful, fast machine which had captured their hearts.

"You know what, Carter?" said LeBeau. "Let's keep quiet about our short ride. There's some things better not explained."

* * *

Notes:

The car is a 1936 Mercedes Benz 500K roadster, and as you can see from the image, she's absolutely gorgeous.

The woman is not Marya, nor Tiger, nor anyone else seen in canon, and that's all you're getting for now.


End file.
